


Your Scent In The Air Around Me

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dreams, M/M, Scents & Smells, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos notices Cecil's scent stays with him far longer than it should. Not that he's complaining, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Scent In The Air Around Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



Carlos loved the sound of Cecil's voice. He loved hearing the news reports, even when they were about him and his strange outsider ways. They emphasized how much he didn't belong in Night Vale, the things they were told and believed wholeheartedly, not that he would blame them. So often it was a case of believe it, or you'd be taken away, presumably locked up, likely to be killed. Not believing was call for a warrant in this wondrous community.

It terrified him sometimes, how much he was willing to accept, so long as it was part of Night Vale. People were turning int shadows? He could work through that. Clocks didn't work? Grudgingly accepted. Hell, he was sure the cinnamon scent that hung in the air around Cecil when he knew Carlos was there wasn't natural, but that didn't stop him from enjoying it, or starting to smell cinnamon whenever he turned on the radio and heard Cecil talking about him. At least, that had started only when he saw Cecil in person, or Cecil talked about him on the radio. Until the day he got hurt, and he smelled cinnamon when he thought he might be dying and then he realized Cecil must be thinking about him, that Cecil probably thought him dead. It was a rush, it was invigorating and terrifying to think about. Cecil had a certain scent when Carlos was around, and Carlos had started to be able to smell it when the man merely thought about him.

That night, he fell asleep with the scent of cinnamon filling his nostrils.

\- - -

Carlos hated the fact dates so often included meals. True, dates happened at meal times, so eating together was just common sense, but food meant he couldn't smell Cecil. He basked in that scent when he was able, the cinnamon that, when pared with Cecil's natural musk, sent Carlos into a haze. It was hard to think when that scent was in the air, but goodness knew he wasn't about to complain. It was as if his body had been rewired, and cinnamon was the most erotic thing on the planet, at least, when it was Cecil's cinnamon. Somehow, the scent changed when it was Cecil. Carlos could always tell when it was his boyfriend and not just your everyday, run-of-the-mill cinnamon he was smelling.

The kisses they shared hinted at the taste, when they held hands, he could smell it on his skin for hours afterward. He could taste it then, licking his palm softly when he got back to his small apartment, when he had time alone after saying goodnight to Cecil for the night.

Those nights, growing more and more common, he was surrounded by the scent, the feeling of it almost palpable in the air around him as one hand moved steadily over his dick and the other thrust Cecil-cinnamon coated fingers between his lips.

He'd fall asleep, curled in his bed, wishing for a body curled with his. How he craved it, and yet it terrified him too. Cecil made it hard for him to think, made him willing to simply accept so many things. He wasn't stupid, he knew what it probably meant. It probably meant Night Vale was trying to make him a part of it, and using Cecil and his attraction to Carlos as a means to an end. Even knowing that, though, he was finding his urges harder and harder to fight. He found himself meditating in his blood stone circle, thinking of Cecil, found himself steadily avoiding any dark hooded creatures that wandered into his lab as though they weren't there. He was loosing touch with the outside world, but that didn't seem to matter as much as it would have when he first arrived. The science here was astonishing, after all, and Cecil, Cecil was magical.

\- - -

The first time Carlos dreamed of Cecil, he didn't know what the dream was about. All he knew was he woke up panting, basking in the after effects of an orgasm, with the scent of cinnamon curling around him like a warm blanket. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to resist the man, didn't know how much longer he'd actually want to.

That day, Cecil mentioned him on the radio, and not just about their date wandering the desert wastelands in the twilight as evening fell to dusk. He mentioned having “The most wonderful dream about perfect Carlos” but he didn't go into any details, said he couldn't. It left Carlos breathless after listening to the way Cecil said that phrase. “The most wonderful dream.” It had sent shivers up his spine, and, more than that, it left him hard and aching, and counting down the minutes until Cecil would be there, fresh from the studio to pick him up.

They didn't go out this time. Cecil came to the door, and it was all Carlos could do to keep from tearing off his clothes right then and there. Instead, he pressed him against the wall, moaning into the kiss as he let Cecil take control, let his tongue lead the dance, let their positions be flipped so he was the one pressed against the wall.

He whimpered at the feel of Cecil pressed against him. He moaned when Cecil's lips and tongue and teeth made their way down his neck to mark the skin they found there, just beneath the edge of his shirt. There were tears in his eyes when he couldn't form the word no as Cecil's hand started straying toward the button on his trousers. And then the scent of cinnamon was gone, and Cecil's hands were holding his tightly, and his deep, sonorous voice was whispering apologies in his ear.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the scent of cinnamon came back as Cecil held him close, as he let him cry. Slowly, ever so slowly, his lips found their way to Cecil's pale skin, eagerly tasting the cinnamon he found there.

“Carlos, are you sure?” Cecil's voice was hesitant, his hands nervously squeezing Carlos'.

“Do I have a choice?” He asked in reply, his voice trembling with worry and fear.

“This is me, Carlos, and as much as I adore your beautiful perfect hair, and the beautiful perfect you, I will never, never give you no choice in this.”

Just hearing those words, the forceful way his lover spoke, brought a smile to Carlos' face. “Thank you, Cecil.” He topped his words with a soft kiss to Cecil's cheek. “I think you're beautiful, too. With a beautiful voice, and a beautiful smell.”

That brought a chuckle to Cecil's lips. “Did you know, Carlos, they say that in Night Vale, you find your soul mate by finding the scent that makes you burn with desire?”

“Mmmm....” Carlos found himself lazily kissing along Cecil's smooth jaw. “I didn't know that. Do you- Can you smell me?”

Cecil shook his head, and Carlos could feel Cecil stiffen in his arms.

“Did you know that I smell you? Cinnamon, you're cinnamon to me. And I can taste it on my skin when you leave, and at night, I feel comfort in knowing you think of me because the scent of cinnamon engulfs me. Which is strange because it should terrify me. No, it does terrify me, but because it's you, the terror doesn't matter so much.” He whispered the words in Cecil's ear, basking in the little gasps each of his revelations caused.

“You have my scent.” Cecil murmured with a groan. “Oh Carlos! I was so afraid, but this! This is better news than I ever thought I'd hear.”

Carlos shuddered with pleasure as Cecil's teeth found his ear, sharp points of pain that blossomed into something almost as erotic as the sound of Cecil's deep voice in his ear.

“If you have my scent, you have me, dear, sweet, perfect Carlos. I'm yours.”

Carlos' eyes drifted shut for a moment, just for a moment, and when he opened them, Cecil was gone, leaving nothing but the scent of cinnamon in the air behind him.

\- - -

The next morning, Carlos woke to a tendril of something caressing him. It stroked his cheek, his hair. When he turned his head, it followed, keeping up the same steady pressure.

His eyes blinked open slowly, his mind startled away by the sight of Cecil's face, hazy in the air above his head. The ghost of Cecil's lips against his own, and then he was gone, leaving Carlos alone, chest heaving, each breath coating his lungs with the scent of cinnamon.

As he poured himself a shot of whiskey with his breakfast, he couldn't help but think of how this was yet another sign of how accustomed to Night Vale he was becoming, after all: “If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.”

He took another shot to fortify himself for the work he had to do. Studies of Night Vale's strangeness wouldn't conduct themselves, after all. Carlos checked the watch at his wrist, not surprised to see it had progressed without bothering to have any discernible gears or widgets. He was in Night Vale, after all. It would be a strange, strange thing for the natural laws of the world to start applying.

The days passed in a haze, veiled by an invisible, cinnamon scented cloud. Dates with Cecil came and went, and he could hardly remember what had happened. But when he slept, oh, when Carlos fell asleep each night, the dreams were vivid, bright colors, shapes that stood out against each other. The haze he had come to expect in Night Vale was gone. He could see what they saw, like the Statue No One Talked About Or Acknowledged. He could understand it, then, the idea that a town like this, full of subways with no entrances or exits, a forbidden dog park, and one singular pizza place. It wasn't hard to believe it was all real here.

The town itself wasn't the only thing he saw in his dream. He saw Cecil, dear, marvelous Cecil, going about his business at the radio station. He saw Cecil with a third eye, or with tattoos on his arms that moved, or, some nights, with tentacles that would reach for him even though dream-Cecil didn't seem to know he was there. 

He never could hear sounds in those dreams, he'd realize later. They were silent, mysteriously so, and never once was he able to find his way to the lab.

The first night he woke up realizing that he'd never gone to his own lab, he also realized dream-Cecil had been wearing that same shirt to their date last night, and that the hooded creatures had held their parade in his dream just like they had paraded through town. After that, he started paying more attention to what he could and couldn't do in dreams. He could never go where he himself had been, and Cecil was the person he most often visited, just sitting there watching him narrate the news, and, if Carlos was very very lucky, and he and Cecil hadn't had a date that night, he'd see Cecil go home, see him arch his back off the bed as he pleasured himself, and then, only then, would Carlos hear anything in his dreams. Always, it was the same thing, his name falling from his lover's lips with a groan.

\- - -

Carlos gasped when Cecil’s hand found its way into his lap, letting out a light moan as he pressed up into the light touch.

“Okay?” Cecil asked, the scent of cinnamon around him dissipating long enough for Carlos to get a few deep breaths of untainted air, and to nod, groaning out a yes, before he leaned in, cinnamon enveloping his lover as their lips met.

Theirs was a soft fury, hands that stroked softly, only hinting at more while lips pressed firmly, and just the hint of teeth was felt. Buttons were undone, shirts and ties and coats tossed to the side before Carlos was really aware of how it was happening. Cecil’s hands were in his hair, and his own hands were grasping Cecil’s hips, holding on for the ride as he felt something tugging on the edge of his pants.

His eyes opened wide, staring into Cecil’s, a grin on his lips as his hands trailed lower, pushing down Cecil’s slacks with ease. “Perfect’” he murmured, “Dear god, Cecil, you’re perfect.”

Cecil only gasped in response, closing his eyes and burying his face in the crook of Carlos’ neck. Carlos was letting his hands wander, letting his hands tease. They squeezed Cecil’s ass firmly, they stroked up his spine, and, when they found that spot on Cecil’s shoulders he had seen in his dreams, they stroked along his tentacles, urging the appendages to continue their work of ridding him of his pants.

“You’re beautiful,” his voice continued, soft and tremulous, lips pressed against Cecil’s ear. “All of you. Every inch. From your iridescent tentacles, to the blush that travels down your chest when you’re touched like this.” His hands stroked pale skin, skin he knew rarely saw the light of day. He let one hand circle around the base of Cecil’s cock, the other steadily running up and down his lover’s spine.

“Carlos…” Cecil whimpered under his touch, the sound urging his hands to move with more purpose and less tease.

“I’ve got you.” Carlos pressed a soft kiss to the tender skin behind Cecil’s ear. “I’ve got your scent, remember? And I’m never letting you go.”

They moved against each other, no insistence or hurry, just learning the other’s body. Carlos explored with his hands; Cecil, with his tentacles. Gently, they made love to each other as the world grew ever darker around them. They had all night, after all. All night to lie together, learn each other, and pretend to sleep.


End file.
